


original poems

by undead_bunniez



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love Poems, Mental Health Issues, Poetry, Self-Reflection, Stream of Consciousness, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undead_bunniez/pseuds/undead_bunniez
Summary: A non-exhaustive collection of my original works of poetry.Because these are written over a span of years, I'd like to note that the quality, style, and subject matter varies.© undead_bunniez 2017-2021
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. scared and/or lying

**Author's Note:**

> A brief note: I'm doing much better now than I was back when the first of these were written. I've been through a number of extensive therapy programs and I've left the toxic relationship that was holding me hostage. I lost myself for quite a long time, but I can confidently say I am becoming myself again. I hope my growth is reflected in my work.

july 17, 2017  
“scared and/or lying”

why would you falsify claims that you love me?  
why can't you recognize the very soul in front of you is as destroyed as it is the destroyer?  
i've been waiting for fortnights, and all i get is flames.  
trapped in a spherical blaze, and loving it.  
maybe screams of agony will lead to my departure from this hellhole,  
but i've grown attached. c'est la vie, motherfucker.  
learn how to listen and maybe history won't repeat itself.  
learn how to walk into hell and come out the other side "just fine".  
that's what they all say. "just fine".  
no wonder i'm losing sleep.  
conformity was the last part of me society favored.  
conformity in the broken scene, hurt by a vicious lover and repeating your errors.  
to err is human, but then what the fuck am i?  
they tell you to get along but you go at it like two abused mutts.  
to err is human, but then what the fuck am i?  
falsify, falsify, falsify,  
and all for the opportunity to rot in hell.  
why not just live it by my side?


	2. ode to my brain

dec 22, 2017  
“ode to my brain”

i can not extend enough gratuitous thanks to you, my friend  
partners in crime until the (nearing) bitter end  
you hold all that i strive for within you  
i hate you for that


	3. untitled (april 09, 2019)

april 09, 2019

a whole album written of my soul,  
or at least i imagine it being that way  
surrounded by heads and bodies  
chord progressions that tear at my heartstrings  
they evoke feeling like little else,  
but their effect wears off too quickly for my liking

weeks  
months  
and i don’t fulfill promises for so long that i forget them  
isn’t that what i do best?  
forgetting  
or at least trying to

i’ve lost my poetic touch  
it’s evident in this piece  
no manipulation of language,  
no harsh repetitions of words that are meant to bite

sometimes i believe myself to be too much  
conversely,  
sometimes i recognize a vast emptiness unrivaled  
and either way, i’m right

at the end of the day, i am what i say i am  
aren’t i?

sunshine  
the word meeting my ears feels like the dizziness and confusion i am so familiar with  
i deserve it, though,  
and i don’t mind the sensation anyways


	4. untitled (sept 10, 2019)

sept 10, 2019

things grow of me  
and drown in me  
and, when it’s the dry season, things leave for a better chance at life  
\- and all of it is fair and right.

i don’t expect for all that life to attempt to hang on through the dry season for sheer sentimental value.  
but while the ground is lush and green and my banks are ever-so-slightly swollen and the creatures splash around,  
i delight in the vitality while i can.

i think maybe sometimes i create my own dry season.  
sometimes i want (or maybe feel that i deserve) drought  
and the cracked and crumbling riverbeds it brings.  
when my river is alive and plentiful, i try to force it away and dam up my own rivulets and source streams.


	5. untitled (sept 25, 2019)

sept 25, 2019

words like silvery fluid  
eyes all milky and glassed  
a head stuffed with cotton and lined with lead  
ignore everything i said  
disregard my eloquent bed  
of roses and ask for force-fed  
peach pits and strawberry ensure instead

sleeping softly in my head


	6. ivy

nov 05, 2019  
"ivy"

reaching upwards like clawing cloying ivy  
twines and tangles itself around the dead or dormant branches of its deciduous brethren,  
frozen in fear  
or snow  
or survival instinct taking over,  
hibernating  
or stagnating  
or maybe doing its purposeful worst in some organic display  
of pity and grief and terror and rage  
and feeling so unsettled by the state it’s found itself in.


	7. in peace and pieces

nov 18, 2019  
"in peace and pieces"

waterfalls of spinal fluid leaking from my head  
(creativity flows and oozes so freely).  
let me be in peace and pieces  
in the coffin and in the cradle and in the metaphorical womb.  
fill up honeycomb with my holy liquids and use it to feed the intellectually-starved masses.  
dehydrate them with fear and revitalize with all i used to show love through;  
my thoughts of you.  
through bones and harvested mosses and pictures taken just for your eyes -  
in my burial plot,  
you lie in wait for someone a little less putrid but so much more rotten.  
give me decomposition and vertebrae  
and rapidfire kisses like shotgun spray on the playground;  
or,  
give me pumpkins splattered against the porch as a message to whatever god might listen to you.


	8. untitled (dec 30, 2019)

dec 30, 2019  
3:27 am

having the words to articulate my feelings isn’t something i have ever found easy. knotted and frayed and worn and barely strung together like an ancient docking rope, they do not flow from me. my thoughts are heavy and difficult to wrangle.

i can describe to you in etched detail the process of how i feel. it is often a process involving searing pain and, even more commonly, complete disregard and flatness. i don’t do it unless i have to. i stuff it all into myself like an adolescent’s binge eating episode before she learns the delicate art of avoidance, and when i come unbottled it is a searing hot bile spring of self-loathing and regret and love and loss and grief. i feel lost, disconnected, torn apart from myself and the people i am meant to love. i am not living life, i am merely forcibly present because the only way to end the treachery is unthinkable.

sometimes i sit down at the kitchen table and i want to skin myself. slide out of it. lay on the floor and feel all my nerve endings lighting up in agony. and feel real. and feel clean.

and sometimes i wish i could recede to the corner seat of the couch, turn off the noise, draw the curtains, and just exist silently. because i don’t want to hurt myself. i want everything to stop hurting. life, all of it, in its burning screaming technicolor, brings to the surface the flashbulb memories and episodes of time that i would be free of in my solitary station by the ashtray. i would not have to think of aleena and the kisses (and brandy and cuts) we will never share again. or him with the name i can hardly think without being brought back to his hands on me, being made to feel so repulsed that i try everything in my power to get rid of the horrible ache in my soul and my stomach. or my mother and the hell i surely must have put her through since before my own birth.

sitting on the couch, the house turned off and the family away, just a soft blanket and a lamp and me, i can imagine melting away into cherry-melatonin heaven and not having to think about it all for even one more second. no need for sharp pains to pull it away and draw it out of me like ancient bloodlettings, or for compulsive routines in the unit. no need for non-slip footwear or strawberry boost or percentages or increased dosages. just the drifting, lolling, “good boy”, in-and-out of consciousness, peace of mind that i certainly don’t deserve.


	9. untitled ii (dec 30, 2019)

dec 30, 2019  
3:31 am

i miss so longingly that which  
i can’t now prove did e’er exist.  
though certainly her ghost does loom  
around my bed, that sweet perfume  
does fade as days go on, so i  
must try to grasp that passing sigh  
of moments lost to greedy time  
and carrion memories lost to flies.


	10. velveteen rabbit, part one

jan 06, 2020  
"velveteen rabbit, part one"

in my garden, chenille-stemmed flowers bow to a watercolor sunrise -  
i follow suit and bend under the weight of the new day’s opportunity

in every breath those flowers take they are growing (without you) and living past your event horizon, where a garden had always seemed like an impossibility

missing you is hazy and tastes of aspartame.

and sometimes, when the velveteen rabbits come to nibble the silk flowers,  
i let them, simply because i feel that i deserve it

though you never said so, the implicit words underlaid every action you took in the name of you,  
in the name of “us”


	11. velveteen rabbit, part two

jan 07, 2020  
“velveteen rabbit, part two”

the velveteen rabbit stalks its prey,  
waits,  
and with a wiggle of the cottonball tail  
pounces, ceramic teeth bared.  
all that remains of me is a melancholy whisper in the shrubs,  
sea foam with aching bones and no hope for escape  
and every intention to surrender to the plush comforting presence of the beast.

i always hate to feel this way,  
petals neither wilting nor prospering,  
neither moving forward nor standing still.

it feels like rotting, reeks of stagnancy in desperation,  
but under my hands it feels like dried moss and polyester sheets and  
cold, harsh metal falling over my legs in a rhythm that could only be described as affectionate,  
a ritualistic punishment feigning origins in self-love.

sea breezes with the stench of dead things float and waft into my days and nights.  
i love the putrefaction because it waits patiently for what it wants,  
never demanding and always just;

and i’m pretty sure now that i hate you.


	12. rest

jan 07, 2020  
"rest"

drowsiness is a lukewarm tub  
with bubble bath that’s fizzled itself out into a restful place  
perfumed with florals mellow and sweet  
pulling you by the hand  
with a gentle lover’s grip, only encouraging, never demanding,  
“rest.”


	13. untitled (jan 24, 2020)

jan 24, 2020  
7:47 pm

what am i if i still believe in the inherent goodness of you?  
you never let me see it but i felt it,  
i know i held it  
in my hands and cradled it to my chest and hushed its piercing cries for a while  
i assume that you didn't want to be consoled or cared for  
if you did you would have let me stay and do what i was there for  
in the first place  
that’s why you loved me like that, right?  
because some parts of me needed to be clung to,  
and so did you, and you sensed that i would sacrifice myself for you

two impatient inpatients  
kept without laces  
or hoodie strings  
crawling out of the darkest places  
and into each other's embraces  
and try as i may i could never bring  
myself to see  
that the blades would sting  
and my heart would atrophy there in my cavernous chest  
when you told me time and time (and time and time) again  
(over text)  
that you cheated again.  
i forgave you again,  
because i needed you then.  
and it feels like my heart will never mend,  
like my love has been scooped out and now i’m hollow.

despite it all,  
i loved every single inch of you and your metamorphic, river-bed soul,  
in truth so shallow.


	14. untitled (jan 26, 2020)

jan 26, 2020  
4:25 pm

sometimes i wonder,  
do you ever consider that i still feel you?  
as when we held hands in the backseat, it’s always so.  
your phantom in my hand,  
your apparition sitting in my lap,  
leading me on the dance floor  
then pinning me to the mattress and i feel your hands, your  
soul when i drift between  
wakefulness and sleep.  
my love follows still where i never wanted to go.  
i want you to know  
that i never meant to love you but i love that i did  
and i hate that i do  
now that we’re through.  
and i promise i hate that we’re through,  
and i promise i’ll never come home to you.


	15. boring

jan 27, 2020  
12:00 pm  
"boring"

boring  
the monotony of this january day  
like every other day  
the sluggish sun stretching its arms and rubbing its eyes,  
returning to the heavenly bed soon enough to give rise  
to yawns and depleted vitamin levels the hemisphere over  
or maybe it’s just me  
times come when i can’t discern  
whether it’s an internal or external malady  
are my imbalances sourced in my blood, in my bones?  
or am i a victim of the orbit we all take, prone to lose touch for some months?

when the sky is grey, as am i


	16. imbalances sourced in my bones and my blood

jan 27, 2020  
12:05 pm

are my imbalances sourced in my bones and my blood?  
years wasted searching for an answer in the blood i drew,  
and in the you i once knew  
who left less to be desired than a life with this void.  
it’s a hole,  
a whole missing piece of me that you took when you went with someone else.  
and when you went so did the source of my bloodlust,  
for better  
and worse  
and worst.  
i yearn for that sensation and i know now i will never have it again.  
i can think about it, maybe will the feeling to mind if i try hard, but it doesn’t do the same for me.  
no jars of sanguine velvet all rotted to hell,  
or love letters penned in mortal ink.

thinking about it spoils something vital inside me, turning me inside out with rot and all the rancid things i keep in my nightmares (and daydreams) otherwise.


	17. untitled (feb 03, 2020)

feb 03, 2020

drown. expedite the rush. crash into her glorious eyes. bring into existence the holy experience of loving and knowing and feeling each other in soul and in form. i can’t write of these, at least i ought not to. i am too far past the heavens and have stood too long in the downpour to tell of clear skies. but i feel her evermore in the pit of my sternum, hands traipsing over my ribs, mouth possessing mine in her addictive and sadistic way. even now i crave her in every way and life pauses in its course on occasion, just to allow my suffering to pass.


	18. written in an otherwise empty study hall

feb 05, 2020  
"written in an otherwise empty study hall"

when he woke that morning, it was with vitality and with love for the promiscuous dawn, bearing down her sumptuous scarlets through the tree canopies.

and when he sat upright, he knew that the dawn loved him back much the same. he knew this in his soul; by no coincidence did her warm golden touch stroke his sleepy face, but with devotion and intention.

he knew of her love at last - having been alone in his downy quilts for so long, he had been waiting for the woman of his dreams in resignation, unsure of her existence at all.

and there she was; and there she had been the whole time, all his years. she watched him in his isolation, too depressed to sleep most nights. when at last he began to understand her lesson, that one doesn’t need the love of a woman to stay warm, only then did she shine her glorious body of light in his direction, and only then did he feel the radiant and unconditional companionship he had yearned for all his days.


	19. lovesick lemming

aug 16, 2020  
10:26 am  
“lovesick lemming”

When I think of all the things I'll never say to you, my head fills up and my chest empties out and I'm left laying my head on my pillow and just missing you. I want everything we never had, everything I fucked up and stole away from us. I guess it’s your fault too, but I’ll always love you too much to blame you. I think we were born to be tragic, to live out our unhappily ever after and regret every moment of happiness that comes after, in the time we never thought would exist. After. In a time and space without you, I don't feel like I want or deserve it.

It’s been years since we laid together in my twin sized bed in my teenage bedroom, unable to sleep but trying so desperately not to touch. Years since we fell into your bed, years since I puked my heart out onto your bedroom floor, so full of apple brandy and Four Loko and every time you called me “baby” that I had no choice but to cave in and love you - and I wanted to.

I miss that. Every time I think about it, I miss it. I’m not sure anymore whether I’ll ever be able to stomach getting wasted again. Whether I ever want another person on top of me, giving me love bites that ignite my whole sense of self like a brush fire. Whether I’ll ever be able to go to the lighthouse or wander down the lakeshore without thinking of you. Whether I want you living in my head like this or not, you’re still the one I want. I’ll always hate us for everything we did to stack the odds against ourselves.

I think you took too much of me too quickly, but I always tried to give you more. Did that scare you? Is that why you had to start giving bits of yourself to other people? To have a piece of yourself that didn’t taste like me? You stole me from myself but I always wanted to be completely gone, to become a part of you, to dissolve into you like I never was. I wanted everything you didn’t offer me, every part of you that you kept tucked away on a shelf because you didn’t want it to taint me.

When I met you for the first time in the hallway back in middle school and complimented your band tee, I already knew. I knew I was going to follow you to the ends of the earth and, when we got there, jump off with you like a lovesick lemming. And I never had any intentions of saving myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one hurts more than most.


	20. shame

feb 03, 2021  
1:47 pm  
“shame”

something about being told i’m not good enough lights me up inside.  
as much as i can recognize the unhealthy connections there, i still want them in the same way i’ll always crave a blade carving into my thigh.  
just because something is bad for me doesn’t mean i push it away -  
in fact, it’s always been the contrary.  
pain is my addiction and the habit has never been something i can kick.  
when i abstain from one form, i always manage to find another way to get a fix.  
it’s something i’ve always been able to do -  
my own little type of magic,  
conjuring up suffering.  
my positive feedback loop of hellishness.  
and when it backfires and my counselors and sponsors find out?  
well, nothing has ever been so delicious as the shame that fills me up and makes me whole.


	21. my hands

feb 04, 2021  
1:42pm  
"my hands"

my hands look so fucking good right now.  
i don't know why, but they do.  
i’m fixated on that.  
they look almost masculine, from a certain angle.  
with chipped black nail polish and tendons and veins,  
they could be the hands of a very pretty boy.  
but they’re my hands,  
attached to my body,  
an extension of me.  
and somehow that means they’re not the hands of a pretty boy,  
they can’t be,  
because they’re mine.  
but they’re still the hands of a quiet rebel.  
someone who yearns for changes they can’t yet make.  
when i can,  
i’m going to ignite this whole body on fire  
and mold something new from the charred fragments.  
like a phoenix,  
i’ll sculpt myself up from ash and tears into something new.  
i’ll make myself into a pretty boy,  
a real boy,  
a boy with chipped black nail polish and tendons and veins.  
a boy who doesn’t need to be quiet.


	22. untitled (july 8, 2020)

july 08, 2020  
5:27pm

as suns set over hills and valleys same  
i revel in the golden light they cast  
so feel i whenever i meet your gaze  
my heart alights with futures yet to pass


	23. spiderwebs

july 21, 2020  
7:16pm

feeling love is like walking into a spiderweb. after the initial touch, it clings to you whether you pull away or try to walk through it. it doesn’t let you go - it hangs on, haunts you. you can try to shake it off, but it sticks. if you wipe it away, you might get it all, but you’ll still feel as if it’s there. 

love doesn’t fade half as quickly as the brokenhearted wish it would.


	24. untitled (jan 01, 2021)

jan 01, 2021  
4:30pm

as i lay in the bathtub, soaking in pink berry-scented water that is going cold much too fast, i think of all the people i could be. i think of every person and every character that owns a part of me, everyone i’ve loved enough or resembled closely enough to absorb.

i am an amalgamation of everyone and everything i love and care about. i’m made of peony buds being opened up by ants in the springtime and of pools of red washing down the shower drain. i’m made of poems no one ever had the gall to write, scabs that take far too long to heal, and the bloodthirsty monsters that i always fall for.


	25. untitled (feb 11, 2021)

feb 11, 2021  
12:55am

living through the vivisection  
just to die of the infection

going septic,  
but at least we got the diagnostic


	26. my vine

feb 23, 2021  
9:31pm  
“my vine”

a vinca vine  
that’s past its time  
lives on the edge of my dresser,  
right in front of the window.  
she can look outside and bear witness to the cold  
but she does not feel it.

something in me felt wronged  
at the notion of leaving such a beautiful plant  
to the whims of mother nature.  
yes, she is cheap,  
and yes, we will get more next year just like her,  
but this one is mine -  
my vine.

when i took her in i chose a pot with love -  
drainage, a deep blue glaze,  
just big enough to set new roots in place.  
i stayed outside well past dark  
separating her from her already-dead neighbors  
with care,  
so as not to damage a single offshoot.  
i brought her inside,  
gangly and altogether too dry,  
and i gave her what she needed.

i provide for her,  
my daughter just as she is my sister -  
something all too easily discarded but worth so much more in affectionate hands.  
i visit her every day, feel her soil, water  
when she’s thirsty,  
trim away the dead parts she doesn’t need any longer.

even when i wasn’t sure she was going to pull through,  
i watered her - i loved her.  
four, now five new vines grow from the roots of what once was,  
and i know i’ll try every year to keep her alive,  
to help her thrive -  
my vine.


	27. untitled (feb 24, 2021)

feb 24, 2021  
11:31am

i want to be your case study  
analyze me please

there’s nothing i want more than to be  
begging on my knees

for your attention and affection

your professional opinion

of me and my disease  
symbioses


End file.
